Tuesday
by OnlyANorthernSong
Summary: During a business meeting at Wayne Enterprises, an 'earthquake' rocks the foundation of the building. With the power out and the Joker in control, Batman must navigate his way to safety, while not compromising his identity to the few survivors.
1. Chapter 1

I don't own, nor will I ever likely own, Batman or the Joker. What a silly thing to even think.

Please excuse any errors, as this was written rather hastily while procrastinating. Still got homework to do, so wish me luck.

Chapter 1

It was a Tuesday. A relatively dreary Tuesday with an overcast sky and a high of 62, but it was a fairly nice day for Gotham. It wasn't raining, the breezes weren't enough to knock over trash cans, and there were even a few pigeons reckless enough to peck the sidewalks. All-in-all, it was a pleasant day, with all the makings of being free of trouble. As Bruce leaned his head back, he even considered actually going to sleep, rather than just pretending. His economists were playing with his money, but, as there were no exciting deals to be done, they were just putting up charts showing the increases and decreases of the company's value. Some were hoping to impress him, others were old to the game and knew he would 'slumber' through the entirety of the meeting.

As a new guy blathered on about incentives for the workers (to increase productivity), the building shook. Bruce's head snapped forward, all thoughts of an actual nap departing from his mind. The other board members glanced curiously about.

"What was that?" One finally had the sense to ask. As if to respond to him, the building shook again- this time more violently. A few of their coffee mugs jolted and tipped over, spilling the hot liquid over the table and papers. A couple of the men leapt to their feet, letting out exclamations of annoyance.

"What the hell is going on?" A mustached man demanded, a trace edge of fear in his baritone.

"Probably an Earthquake," Another man responded, jittery- a mix of apprehension and coffee. Bruce stood, thoughts immediately running through any non-natural causes that could have been at work. Plenty of people had the ability to cause such movement; it need not simply be shifting tectonic plates. His first thought had been an explosion.

He burst out of the meeting room, to find his secretary hiding under her desk, the way school children were taught to do during a Tornado. How she thought doing so would help on the thirtieth floor of a skyscraper during an Earthquake, Bruce didn't know.

"Sharon," He approached her quickly, and she cautiously removed herself.

"What's going on?" She asked fearfully. He shook his head as he spoke.

"I don't know. Do you have contact with the ground floor?" She perked, as though she hadn't thought of attempting contact. He supposed her first instinct for any emergency was to pop under a desk. She grabbed her phone.

"Front Desk?" She spoke worriedly after she'd dialed, then lit up as a voice replied:

"Ms. Tadget?"

"Yes!" She responded gleefully. "Yes! What happened?"

"We don't know," It answered. "Looks like an Earthquake at the moment. Would Mr. Wayne and the board members like to evacuate in case of violent aftershocks?" Completely in control now, Sharon glanced at Bruce for an answer. He nodded.

"Yes," She replied. A pause. "Hello?" She banged the head of the receiver against the desk, as though that would somehow help. "Hello?" She repeated, louder. No longer in control, she looked as though she were about to bawl. "I lost contact." She told Bruce shakily.

"That's alright," He responded, as he glanced toward the elevator. He didn't know what condition the building was in, or what had occurred, but right now it was imperative that he find himself downstairs. "It's okay."

"What happened?" He turned to see the crew of board members, all looking sick.

"Looks like an Earthquake," He answered.

"Yes, I thought so." It was the man from before, looking now more self-assured than terrified.

"They said we should evacuate." He added. "In case of aftershocks." The men all nodded.

"Yes, yes, absolutely. Those can be dangerous." The man now considered himself an expert on Earthquakes.

"Can I come?" Sharon asked, looking as though she expected to be left behind, to cower beneath her desk.

"Of course." Bruce answered firmly. She looked mildly appeased. The men all bustled to the elevator. Bruce frowned. "Is that safe?"

"Oh, definitely. It was a mild one." The Earthquake-expert explained. Bruce began to protest, but, as the final man (a hefty stockbroker) shuffled aboard, there was a worrying snap. The men immediately began to shove against each other, a desperate attempt at leaving behind their co-workers. Only two prevailed in this attempt (which, of course, had exacerbated things), and turned to watch- half-relieved and half-petrified- as their fellow employees plummeted down. One man had been attempting to scramble onto the main platform, and the four survivors had the unhappy task of hearing his wrist crunch against the metal. Their screams filled the empty space, and it seemed to echo long past its dissipatedness. The only noise was the choked sob of Sharon Tadget as her employers' screams of terror faded.

Bruce was frozen, his arm still out-stretched in his plea for them to remain on the top floor.

"Oh." The Earthquake-expert stammered. "Oh." The building shifted again, and the fourth survivor screamed. His pitch was so high that Tadget covered her ears and began wailing. The Earthquake-Expert had blanched by this point. The High-pitched Economist finally lowered his scream to a series of worried mumbles. Bruce finally shook away the shock of the occurrences, and turned to those few that had survived.

"Try calling the front desk again." His voice was low, and Tadget either didn't hear him, or was too busy weeping to follow his instructions. Deciding that her secretarial duties were now #2 on her list of priorities, Bruce grabbed the phone and went to dial himself. There wasn't even a tone. It was worthless. He marched to the stairs, then looked at the trio of survivors: a hyperventilating secretary, an in-shock man mumbling to himself while glancing fearfully about, and a pale young man who knew little more than charts. It was a rag-tag bunch, and certainly not the type you want to guide through emergencies.

"This way." He said, nodding toward the stairwell. "We have to get downstairs, in case of aftershocks." Deciding to test the water, he nodded at the Earthquake-Expert. "Right?" The man, still pale, nodded quickly.

"Yes, yes." He agreed hurriedly, flip-flopping from his earlier belief. Perhaps he chose whatever was closest as the safest course: he'd been inside the elevator before, so it had been closest. Now the elevator was on the first floor, so the stairs were closer. "Aftershocks- stairs are safer, definitely." This affirmation seemed to calm down Tadget, but the High-pitched Economist seemed a lost cause. He continued to mumble. It sounded as though he were going through his incentives speech again.

Bruce decided to press, and took his arm. Relieved that he didn't resist (as people in shock sometimes tend to do), Bruce guided him toward the stairs, and nodded.

"Let's go."

Tadget looked like an owl as she placed her first high heel into the stairwell.

"It's dark." It was. Inside the other room, it hadn't been noticeable. The glass lining the outside walls had pretty much covered up the fact that power had been lost at some point; the stairwell was completely black. Bruce did his best work in the dark, but his unadjusted eyes strained and failed to make out any shapes.

"Aren't we supposed to have emergency lights in here?" He grumbled, more than a little annoyed. Earthquake-Expert nodded.

"Absolutely. Safety regulations, for sure: probably some builders skimping on their work." High-pitched Economist had nothing to say on the matter: he continued to mutter about incentives. Bruce did have an incentive in getting to the ground floor, though it had little to do with mass productivity and sales increases. If they didn't get out soon, who could say if the next aftershock proved more disastrous? If the stairs cracked and buckled beneath them?

Tadget began to cry.

"It's dark." She repeated in a whimper. Bruce frowned at her, unable to see her face. But he could imagine it: her mascara running down, her expression pitifully twisted in fear, her trimmed eyebrows curved up. He could only assume she'd be more comfortable under her desk.

"We'll be okay," He told her, inadvertently taking on the role of assurance that Clark usually filled. He carefully stepped forward, then found the railing. "Come here- slowly. Follow my voice. I've found the railing." Her sobbing came closer, and she finally piped up:

"I've got it."

"Good," He said soothingly. "You next." He was addressing the Earthquake-Expert, but there was no way to explain that. He tried to remember his name, but failed: he was new, and from a much lower level. Despite his best efforts, Bruce just couldn't fill his mind with every employee's name. He had much more important things to remember. He resisted cursing, then felt his way away from the railing. "Stay here," He told Sharon. He shoved open the door, the limited light that came in no help at all. But it did give him a few inches of sight, though it also ruined whatever amount his eyes had adjusted. The Earthquake Expert was fidgeting with his tie. Bruce approached him, the door slamming shut loudly. When Bruce's hand tapped his shoulder, the other man jolted, nearly leaping a foot into the air. He screamed, encouraging Tadget to scream. All the screaming brought High-pitched Economist out of his reverie, and he joined in.

The stairwell was, for a total of a minute, an echoing chamber of unnecessary screaming.

"What happened?" Tadget sobbed.

"I tapped him," Bruce responded, and the scorn was difficult to hide.

"Oh," The Earthquake-Expert managed. "Oh."

"Follow me," Bruce told him. "I'll come back for you," He added gently, placing a comforting hand on the High-pitched Economist's shoulder. He got a mutter about opportunity costs as a response. "Sharon? Let me hear your voice."

"I'm here," She responded, her voice wavering. Bruce followed it, leading along the Earthquake-Expert. He placed his hand on the railing, then returned to re-do the entire task with the High-pitched Economist. Finally, they were all situated at the head of the staircase.

"Now, be careful." Bruce commanded sternly. He remembered something suddenly. "Sharon? Are you wearing your high-heels?"

"Yes," She responded.

"Take them off."

"No!" She moaned, as though this were the greatest insult of the day. "They cost $800!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, almost wishing an Earthquake would come again to kick these people into action, to remind them how dire the situation was.

"Sharon, take them off, or you're fired."

"I'll carry them," She sniffed, and there was the quiet sound of leather straps being pulled, and buckles being unsnapped. "They're off." She told him mournfully.

"Good." He encouraged. "Now, I'm going to walk around you three. Okay? I'll be at the front." When there were no arguments, he gently felt his way around them, until his hand grasped an empty railing. "Good. I'm here." He repeated, knowing that they needed to be kept in the loop. Figuratively, out of the dark. "Take tiny steps. Be careful." He continued down. It was silent for almost five minutes, other than the very quiet mumbling.

"Are we almost down?" Padget asked anxiously.

"To the floor?" He asked incredulously. It would not have surprised him if that was what she meant.

"To the platform," She elaborated. "The stop between the next stairs, and then the next floor. Maybe they have power; maybe they can help." It was unlikely, but it was a goal. He let her have it, and informed her that, no, they weren't at the platform yet.

"Soon." Just as he said it, his foot was unable to take another step. "We're here." He told them, the relief in his voice both evident and sincere.

When they'd finally reached the bottom of the second set of stairs, Tadget let out a sigh of relief. The exit sign was dim, and Bruce was again filled with frustration at the lack of safety precautions. In all honesty, he hadn't given safety precautions too much work, simply because he'd believed them to be adequate. To realize that there were no back-up lights in the stairwell, no adequately-lit exit signs...it was infuriating. He tried not to think about the safety regulations that could- may- have resulted in deaths. On his watch. His hands curled into fists as guilt and anger boiled in his stomach.

"Oh, I bet the power is on!" Tadget crowed as she pushed open the door. Light assailed their eyes, but it was natural. The glass walls revealed unspeakable horror: bodies lined the floor, and the metallic scent of blood assaulted their noses. Tadget's relief melted into utter horror as she whimpered, then, with a soft cry that sounded as though she were going to faint, slumped against the wall. Earthquake-Expert pushed his glasses higher onto his nose, as though their slight fogginess had caused him to see things.

"Oh." He managed. He said little else.

"What the hell happened here?" Bruce growled, inadvertently slipping into a different mindset. The awful accident he'd seen on his floor hadn't brought out Batman, but the mass murder he came upon now certainly did.

"I-I-" Tadget stuttered, before breaking down into tears. She'd even dropped the shoes, and gave no indication that she was going to pick them up again. Earthquake-Expert looked sick to his stomach, and he slumped beside her, staring at the carnage. Only High-pitched Economist didn't seem phased as he gave a normative statement about inflation in relation to Wayne Enterprises stock. Bruce stepped forward, and grabbed a phone from the desk. No dial tone.

"Damn it." He muttered under his breath. He had no idea what was going on: an earthquake(?), mass murder, and the power was completely off. Had it been nighttime- rather than mid-afternoon- they would have been completely screwed. Tadget's face flickered.

"There's a light over there-!" She said unsurely. She was right. A small glimmer came from the floor. Bruce rushed to it, and saw that it was a cell phone. It was hanging open, 9-1 dialed. He frowned down, then quickly dialed in the final 1. It only rang twice.

"Hello, Gotham Police Station, what is your emergency?"

"This is Bruce Wayne," Bruce began, knowing when to drop his name. There was a mild gasp.

"Sir?" She repeated. "Let me get Commissioner Gordon- are you alright? Is there anyone else with you?"

"Three others." He answered, slightly thankful that she seemed to know what was going on. But he wasn't too fond of the fact that she sounded terrified. It only took a moment for the gruff voice of James Gordon to run through.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"Hi, Jim." Bruce answered. "Mind telling me what the heck is going on?"

"You need to get out of there." Gordon told him firmly. "Can you get to the roof? We can send a helicopter."

"We were working our way down-" He began to explain, but the police commissioner cut him off.

"The Joker controls most of the floors. It's a miracle you're alive- we heard you were dead."

"Dead?" Bruce repeated, surprised.

"Joker called it an 'Elevator mishap'. Was he lying?"

"No." Bruce answered, understanding. "Most of the board-members were inside. There are only three others with me."

"Alright." He sounded exhausted. "Can you get to the roof? I'm trying to get- help, but I don't know how soon it will get there." What he meant by 'help' was obvious, and Bruce tried to ignore the dark humor in the situation. He almost wanted to ask, 'How soon will Batman get here?' He resisted the urge.

"The lights are off in the stairwell."

"Joker may be responsible for that, too. We know he shut off the main-power; any generators may have been manually disabled. Is it possible for you to get to the roof? I'll have a helicopter in that area; call when you're up, and we'll ge- -ou out of -ere."

"Jim?" Bruce asked. "Commissioner Gordon?" There was a small beeping noise as the phone flickered off and died. Of course. He turned to his companions. "We need to get to the roof." Tadget moaned.

"It took us twenty minutes to climb down a floor- how are we supposed to get to the roof?" Bruce frowned, allowing a small amount of Batman to seep into his voice.

"If you'd prefer, you can join Joker in the lobby." She blanched, and even the High-pitched Economist seemed to snap from his daze for a moment. Joker had that effect on people. "Come on." He swept past them, assuming they'd follow. They did.

* * *

><p>Oh, that wacky Joker.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, you're almost done. Good job.

Chapter 2

It took them about ten minutes to find themselves back where they'd started, and as they began to climb up the next set of the stairs, the lights flickered on. They were dim- just the back-up lights. But they provided the survivors the ability to see their footing. As they were enjoying this new luck, a crackle came through the airwaves. The building had been built, originally, as the Cold War began. As such, it came equipped with intercoms on each level, to warn of danger. They were old, dusty, and generally unused, but it seemed they still worked.

"Good afternoon, dearies." Bruce was slightly disturbed by his lack of response. The others froze, looking as though they were toddlers caught stealing from the cookie jar. The High-pitched Economist stopped his mumbling, and twisted his head about. It wouldn't have been surprising had he gotten whiplash: he looked like a hungry frog searching for an elusive fly. "A little bat told me that someone out there doesn't have a bullet in the brain. If you qualify for this description, come on down to the lobby, and we'll get you all fixed up."

"How does he know?" Tadget hoarsely demanded. "How does he know?" The Earthquake-Expert suddenly gained an expertise in ethical matters.

"Goddamn cops," He responded in a harsh whisper. "Half of them are corrupt, and the other half are incompetent. Goddamn it. My taxes go to them and they sick the Joker on me." At the thought of her rescuers being her condemners, Tadget burst into fresh tears. Bruce shushed her.

"Come on," He commanded. "We don't know how long the lights will be on."

"What about the roof?" Tadget sobbed. "If they know about us, they know the police are coming. They know where we're going." It was a thought that had occurred to Bruce, but his plan at the moment was shaky. He'd decided he would go onto the roof first. It wasn't a particularly good plan, but there really wasn't any other option. With no equipment and the three survivors with him, he couldn't exactly stomp through the front lobby. And he couldn't have them wait anywhere- they were all on the brink. Not to mention they had little sense of self-preservation.

"I'll go out first," He told her. "Make sure it's safe." The others hadn't budged from the platform. Now, reluctantly, they followed him up the stairs.

"You know," The Joker continued over the intercom. "You guys are probably being very quiet, trying not to get caught. So, let's play a game. I'll tell the funniest joke I know: you'll have to laugh, and then my boys will shoot you. Ready? This one is a side-splitter." As he told gruesome joke after gruesome joke (one involving a nun and a machete, and another babies and a lawnmower) Padget began moaning softly. She looked sick to her stomach. Bruce was more worried by the High-Pitched Economist's reaction: he chuckled.

"What's often late and complained about by most gothamites, despite saving their day routinely?" A brief beat. "The subway and the Batman! Where the hell is he? You ought to be saved by now. Guess he has more important things to do. Maybe he just doesn't like you. Could that be it? You all are just not worth saving? Scum of the Earth, little nothings? Good for you! You should try out for the henchman gig. Come down to the lobby; I'll sign you up!" He cackled, and it was suddenly pitch black.

Tadget screamed, horrified, and the High-pitched Economist didn't join in this time. Just her ghastly scream, echoing. It sounded as though she were being murdered violently. The lights came back on. Silence reigned for a total of five seconds.

"Heard that." He finally said, sounding pleased. "See you soon."

"Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, oh, no." She moaned terribly, pulling on her skin as if she could become invisible if she could just get it off. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"You've killed us!" The Earthquake-Expert accused, looking vicious. Perhaps it was the new, dim lighting, but he suddenly resembled a rat. "You've fuc-"

"Shut up." Bruce commanded, glaring at him shortly.

"She killed us." The Earthquake-Expert replied. He paused for half of a beat, his face suddenly brightening as his eyes glimmered in a horrid way. He looked like a madman who'd found a new way to butcher. "They don't know how many of us there are; they only heard her scream. Just leave her in the office- they'll never kno-!"

"Shut up." Batman's voice was harsh. His presence loomed, and the dim shadow he cast seemed to envelope the entirety of the stairwell. The Earthquake-Expert trickled back from a rat into a timid economist. "It was a bluff."

"A bluff?" The Earthquake-Expert repeated incredulously.

"Obviously," Bruce responded, as though he were dealing with an idiot. "Haven't you noticed? This acoustics of this stairwell are unreliable. She screamed on this floor, but it echoed down the entire building. It was a bluff. A way to make us nervous, make us move against each other. Like the stupid jokes: he's just trying to unnerve us." His eyes narrowed. "And you just moved to give him your co-worker." The younger man suddenly looked sheepish and foolish. He stared at the ground.

"Oh."

"I-" Tadget dabbed at her mascara. "I didn't kill us?"

"No," Bruce replied. "But if we stay here it will only be a matter of time before they find us by luck. We have to keep moving." She nodded, breathing in deeply to compose herself. He nodded at the two, then glanced over at the older man. He had been abnormally quiet since the Joker's disturbing humor had begun. "Are you ready?" He asked. The High-Pitched Economist glanced over, as though he had been reading a newspaper, and hadn't quite been paying attention. With the same casual interest of such a person, he said,

"Oh, yes." With that, Bruce tore about, and began marching up the steps. He heard the sound of rapid but soft footfalls, and soon found Tadget in step beside him. Her heels, it seemed, had been forgotten.

"Thank you." She murmured. "For that." He glanced over at her; her makeup had run, and, even in this moment of calm, she looked terrified.

"Of course." He finally replied, flashing her the famous Wayne-smile. She blushed despite the situation, then began,

"How on Earth did you think about the...the echo, the acoustics. I would have never thought of that." It was a small compliment coming from a woman who hadn't thought of calling the front desk after a small tremor. Despite the lack of interest he currently had in keeping up his charade, Bruce replied,

"I dunno. It just, sort of, seemed obvious." It had, but he had to sound nonchalant and idiotic about it. He was Bruce Wayne, after all. He'd played the part of leader for the greater part of this adventure (for lack of a better word), but they were (hopefully) coming to the end of it. He had to return to basics.

"Wow." She gaped at him like a flirtatious fish. "You're real smart." As he was deciding how to respond to that, a huge explosion racked the building.

"An aftershock!" The Earthquake-Expert surmised, leaping to the wall. He pressed himself against it, but it was too late: whatever had occurred had already ended.

"That felt different," Tadget noticed, her intimate conversation with her boss forgotten in light of this newest development. "It wasn't the ground so much as..." Her eyes rolled up, and she stared, in horror, at the ceiling. "The roof." She breathed. Bruce finally had had enough.

"Stay here." He commanded, rushing up the final set of stairs. "If I'm not back in a minute, try and hide somewhere." It was a poor instruction. They had come so close...if Joker and his men had taken over the roof, hope was practically lost. He threw open the door, and found himself with five guns in his face. A figure stood in front of a burning helicopter, its pilot dangling from a torn leg, and its broken blades swinging lazily. The figure turned, and grinned.

"Hey, Brucie! You're not dead!" He took out a gun. "Wanna change that?"

* * *

><p>Keep going; you might as well, right?<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

You've made it this far, might as well wrap it up.

Chapter 3

Joker swaggered toward Bruce, then pursed his lips to the side, giving the impression of having intense concentration. Then, in a flash, whipped the gun against Bruce's face. He let loose an involuntary choke of pain and surprise.

"Nope, nope, nope." Joker shook his head, looking disappointed, as he put away the pistol. "That's not the scream I heard. Unless you're more scared of the dark than me, someone is missing." He smiled. "I assume we're playing hide-and-seek, now." He gave a growl to a henchman, who trudged down into the stairwell. "He'll find your girlfriend, no worries. Then you two can practice skydiving." He turned, and peered at the surrounding buildings, looking severely peeved.

"Boss?" One of the remaining goons asked. The madman waved him away, stalking to the edge of the roof, and staring straight down.

"Now, it's just rude." He finally announced. "I've been here, what- two hours? What kind of guy is two hours late? I think I'll hit him extra-hard today."

"If he comes." Bruce piped up, his split lip not stopping him from exploiting this latest development. Joker twisted, his face suddenly a cacophony of emotions. Humor cracked into complete annoyance. His eyebrows curved nearly so low that they would appear to drop off, yet his scowl swiftly smoothed into a huge smile.

"_If_...he...comes." He repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. "Tell me this, Mr. Wayne. Why would he _not_ be coming?"

"I dunno," Bruce answered. "But the Commissioner didn't sound like he thought he was."

"The Commissioner?"

"I called the police."

"Of course you did." He grunted, half-glancing at the decaying helicopter. He approached Wayne. "Maybe, because you're a CEO and not a psychopath, you're not aware of the...way things work. I kill- massacre. Batman shows up, 'stops' me, and I go back to Arkham for a bit to relax while the prodders get their fix. Now, if you missed it, step 1 is I kill people. I did that. Really good job, too. Batman showing up is step 2. That's what we're waiting on- that's what's going to happen."

"Unless he doesn't come." Joker sent him a squat look of annoyance, and he appeared to be more a weary schoolteacher than a mass-murdering sociopath. He approached his slow student, and said,

"He'll come. He always comes." There was a sudden cry of anguish, and the two men twisted. Tadget and the two boardmembers were pushed harshly onto the roof. The Earthquake-Expert was clearly out of his league; he looked as though he were about to vomit on his $5,000 suit. The High-Pitched Economist kept his eyes downcast, refusing to even glance up at the madman that would end his life.

"Well, howdy. Nice of you to join." Joker said cheerily. He slapped the High-pitched Economist on the back. "Geez, you don't look so good." The man slowly raised his head. "You look like you could use some air." His eyes went wide.

"No, no, no." His voice oozed out as though he were moaning, and was much whinier than it had been in his mumbles. "No, no, no." An amused brow rose on Joker's face.

"No, no, no?" He repeated mockingly.

"No, no, no, no." The man repeated, rocking slightly. Giving a light cackle, Joker shoved a thumb in his direction.

"Guy's off his rocker."

"Don't kill me!" He suddenly roared, pushing against Joker and running towards the exit. Bruce jolted to rush after him, as he saw Joker's henchman drawing guns. He was moving purely by instinct, reflex; there was no way he could save the man, now, but he had to try-

"Don't shoot him, idiots," Joker complained, killing a trigger-happy henchman with his own gun. The High-Pitched Economist now looked like a cornered animal, who'd been abused in the past. His shining eyes searched the roof for allies, but seemed to recognize no one. "Come on, over, Hogan." He encouraged, tossing his head to the side. "Come on." The High-pitched Economist seemed to ignore all logic as he approached the killer.

"The marginal benefit of killing me doesn't outweigh the cost," He began pleadingly, but Joker cut him off.

"Walk with me, dearie," He said, leading the other man along like a confused puppy. "What's your name?"

"I-"

"Doesn't matter, actually," Joker interrupted, cocking his head up. "-Seeing as you'll be dead in a minute." The High-pitched Economist lived up to his name as Joker tripped him, and then shoved him off the roof. Tadget joined his scream, and Bruce was there within seconds. His hand gripped the other man's.

"Hold on-" He grunted, as clammy hands scrambled for a good hold.

"Don't drop me-!" The other man crowed desperately, as he kicked and twisted beneath Bruce's hold, making the attempt to bring him up that much more difficult. "Don't let me die-!" Tadget was still screaming distantly, and Bruce found himself within a vacuum. For a brief moment, it was just Bruce Wayne and his co-worker, hanging precariously from the roof of a skyscraper. It was chilly out, the winds cut into his face as he attempted to pull him up. The screams and laughter from behind him seemed to originate from another world: all he heard were the pleas for life.

The High-Pitched Economist kicked against the building, no doubt attempting to climb his way up, as though Bruce's arm were a rope rather than a limb. Doing so nearly made him plummet; Bruce's good grip kept this from occurring. But the Billionaire himself was launched over the edge, and, soon, only his ankles held him on the roof. He resisted choking out in pain as the sharp concrete edge dug into his flesh.

"Don't let me die-!" The man repeated, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was endangering both of their lives through his reckless antics. His attempts to claw his way up were only resulting in negative outcomes. He was an externality, leading to a market failure. "Don't let me die-!"

"Oh, shut up." Came a voice, breaking into the vacuum. Bruce felt himself dragged up, and saw a gun's handle pound down onto the hold he had on the slippery hands. There was dazzling pain, but he refused to let loose. Even when the second hit came, it wasn't Bruce that let go.

Surprisingly, the High-Pitched Economist didn't scream as he dropped.

Bruce was flipped down onto his back as he was swung onto the roof. Tadget was openly weeping again, and the Earthquake-Expert stared in horror.

"Mr. Wayne..." Joker began, grinning as though he'd found an extra morsel in what had appeared to be an eaten plate. "You are quite the hero." His heart stopped, then began again. He swung to his feet, his fists aching, and his face still pounding. He'd begun fighting before the henchman could even reach for their guns. His body moved like a well-oiled machine, and the hours of pretending to be nothing but a posh businessman while death stank up the building had built up aggression that needed to be let loose. The henchman were incapacitated within seconds. The Joker had watched, and now glowed with that gleeful energy you usually see in children when they have received the exact present they'd been hoping for for Christmas. It was much more malicious now than when a little girl received a particular plush toy.

"Oh, Brucie-!" He cried happily, clapping. Tadget stared in confused amazement; the Earthquake-Expert had fainted. Joker bowed. "I guess I owe it to you. You weren't late after all." Bruce stood, chest heaving, waiting for the next move. He had no idea what to expect at this particular moment- the moment he'd feared with a small amount of morbid curiosity for years. This was an interval the always-prepared Batman was unprepared for. Joker raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you going to say anything to your adoring fan? I've been wondering for a while, you know. So...a few words of wisdom?" The words came to his mouth as the most obvious.

"You're going back to Arkham." Joker burst into laughter, slapping his thighs. Had his complexion been visible- normal- it probably would have turned red with delighted humor.

"Oh, darling," He grinned devilishly. "That's your answer to everything." Bruce began to advance, and the Joker whipped out and aimed a pistol. Tadget croaked out in fear, and she now resembled a hungry seagull, with a slack jaw, wide eyes, and a blank face. Bruce stopped where he stood. "Now, I played all the way to this point, I deserve a little cutscene before the action. What the hell do you plan on doing now, Bat-brain? Brucie? I mean, look at this. I've got a gun on your sweetie-" She had a gun on her, and yet somehow was able to blush. "-and a tab on you. You, however, have an unconscious mug at your feet- aw, he looks so cute when he's sleeping- and he has a gun. I'll give you a whole ten seconds for you to make your move, honey. _Go_." Bruce was frozen, but Batman was in action; he was crossing the roof as quickly as he could. Refusing to let himself fail. And, yet...

"Bang." Joker said it as he shot, and Tadget let out a soft cry as the bullet pounded into her stomach. Batman tackled the madman, who laughed as if he'd just seen the greatest comedy special in existence. "You had a way out!" He laughed, rolling as he did so. His gun was confiscated as Bruce rushed to the side of his secretary. "You could've shot me, and gone to Hawaii to get laid! But you got her shot! God, you must _love_ me." The laughter continued, and Bruce found himself sucked into a vacuum again. She was already slipping into shock.

"Stay calm," He whispered, ripping open her shirt to search for the wound. It was an action he'd taken millions of times. But she still twisted away, listlessly pushing her face to the ground. "Sharon," He murmured, trying again. Hearing her name said by his voice soothed her, and she allowed him to check the extent of the wound. It was bad. Hollow point bullets. She'd be dead in minutes. He turned, his vacuum dissipating. The Joker grinned up at him, greedily searching the new- familiar – face.

"Not gonna make it, huh?" He drawled.

"A phone." He hissed. "A phone, now."

"Sure, sweet-ums," The Joker answered, tossing up a generic phone. The type you throw in oceans after completing your business. "But it won't make any difference." Bruce knew that. As it dialed, the clown remained seated, criss-cross-applesauce, apparently content. He smiled pleasantly up as Bruce changed his voice slightly to sound panicked as he demanded a helicopter- an EMT. When the call had ended, he returned to Sharon, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she began to die. "The worms go in, the worms go out-!" He sang badly. Bruce ignored him. There was mild stirring at his side as the Earthquake-Expert regained consciousness. He saw Sharon, saw the lack of the other survivor (or, rather, the man who had once been a survivor but was no more), and finally saw the disabled henchman.

"What the hell happened?"

"B-Batman." Tadget mumbled past saliva and the distance that now existed between her and the real world. She was entering a vacuum like the ones Bruce had inhabited, where the world was small and blurry and other voices difficult to discern.

"Batman." Bruce affirmed quietly, expecting Joker to contradict him. But the roof was silent save for the wild exclamations of the other man.

"Batman? Where the hell is he? And why'd he leave him!" Referring, of course, to the clown.

"Good question." Joker approved with an elegant nod.

"He called the police." Bruce responded irritably, as he tried to focus.

"So did we-!" The expert hissed, now referring to the still-burning carcass of the helicopter. He then looked at what was holding his Boss' attention to such a high degree and let loose a minute gasp. "She's been shot!" He was now an expert on injuries. Whether it was the gun Bruce had laid beside her or the huge gaping bullet wound in her stomach that had tipped him off, no one knew. It was a few more excruciating moments before a new helicopter touched down at the heli-pad, and an annoyed Commissioner Gordon came personally down. When he saw the ensuing drama, he cursed under his breath, and watched as the EMTs present got out the equipment and began loading the hopeless case.

They didn't bother glancing over Bruce's injuries; he didn't mention them. The two men were taken in for shock, as Bruce displayed the symptoms, and the Joker was soon a spec from a departing helicopter. Bruce's heart was still pounding angrily in his chest as he remembered the happy smile. Would he tell anyone? If so, who?

Or would he simply attack Bruce Wayne personally in the future, as he no longer needed to go through the motions he'd described earlier?

He remained in the surgery room for the entirety of the next hour, watching over Sharon Tadget. A week later, he watched over her again as a man in black imparted words of grief to the sparse mourners. He watched as her casket was lowered down into the fresh soil, his coat billowing in the slight wind of the cool afternoon. He couldn't help wondering as he stared down if he had made the correct decisions, if, perhaps, she would have been safer under her desk. They'd never even bothered to check the office.

A new guilt to burden.

He attended the funeral of Jack Lastly, too. The High-Pitched Economist. The condition of his body was not suitable, so they buried an empty coffin. It seemed somehow appropriate, though Bruce refused to consciously think so: at the end of the day, he'd been an empty man, filled with nothing but fear. He wondered again whether he could have somehow stopped him from approaching the Joker, if he could have somehow pulled him up.

A new guilt to burden.

The subsequent weeks were filled with funerals. He attended each one, sometimes disguised lightly in a black coat and sunglasses. He stood among the broken families and lost friends, and felt the guilt of it all rest upon his shoulders, as he regretted each loss of life. He juggled these guilts and worries alongside fears that the Joker would escape, and begin his mad slaughter again.

Only one man (other than, I suppose, the Joker) benefited from the madness that day. Eric Duran- the Earthquake-Expert- wrote a book about his ordeal, which quickly became a national bestseller. Granted, the best tidbits that could have been included remained unknown to him, due to the fainting spell. Despite this, however, he went on talk show after talk show, forgoing his economic career, to discuss the motives of the Joker in different crimes. He was appreciated, and his knowledge was constantly commented on fondly.

I guess you could call him an expert.

* * *

><p>That was the end. Right there.<p> 


End file.
